Dewy-Eyed Idealist
by out.of.sea.into.woods
Summary: Maximilian Detweiller, imprisoned in Dachau, shares a secret correspondence with Georg Von Trapp. M/M.
1. The Letter

**I don't own Sound of Music.**

**So, this came from the fact that my high school is doing SOM this year and one of my best friends is the Captain and I'm Max. And we would kid about the _subtext_ of Max and Georg's relationship (Max pulls Georg's attention away from Elsa sometimes, Georg allows Max to freeload, etc.) And my friend decided to write a little song about that relationship. Not to be bested, I decided to write a little reply. Just made year/date edits.**

**Hope you enjoy.**

_… Switzerland is tolerable, though I hope we can leave soon. The authorities are processing are immigration forms as quickly as possible. America is the safest place for us, Maria keeps telling me. But what will I be there? Not a Captain, not a Baron. But with the baby on its way and all the children- we have to do what's best for us all._

_ I'm glad that you're still alive, that's something at least. I'll wire you some more money, but I must be careful. No doubt, the Nazis have people watching you. And me. Please, be careful. Do you know when you're getting out? If there's anything I can do, please, tell me, Max._

_Truly,_

_ Georg_

Max Detweiller held the letter delicately. The clear, impassioned handwriting made his heart soar. He was lying on his thin cot, a stiff blanket insufficiently keeping the warmth close to his ever-growing thinner body, but it didn't matter. The Dachau winter couldn't squelch the soft candle of light in his heart. Giving a glance to the door (one could never know when a Nazi officer was watching), Max pulled out a sheet of paper and a pen from under his pillow and began writing in the cold, dim light.

_Dear Georg,_

_ As always, your money is the most appreciated aspect of this relationship. It is the only thing that keeps me going; and these letters. Most of your wires go straight to the officers as a bribe. Most, at least._

_ I'm glad the Swiss are as welcoming as we believed them to be. When you can, contact Herr Fitzsimmons. He's Minister of Taxation and has many friends in high places; he can help you (plus, he has an __**excellent**__ wine cellar, though nothing compared to yours, of course). I wish Maria well, I truly do. It's been far too long since the last Von Trapp birth and I can hardly picture you without a small child in your arms. I remember when you and A__gathe__ first brought back Liesel. That absurdly proud smile you wore while you paraded her about like the brightest medal you'd ever won. It seems so long ago, like it was someone else's life. I feel so spent, Georg. So old. Hard to believe I turn forty this year. I feel like only yesterday, we were young, a valient young naval officer and a conniving politician. Ready to take Austria by storm._

_ Dachau isn't nearly as bad as I believed. Sure, it's more or less a living hell, but they give me my cigarette and brandy rations all the same, so I can't complain. I'm starting to charm my way out of this situation, I believe. It helps that I actually didn't __**know**__ anything beforehand._

Max paused for a moment, his hand beginning to ache. Of course, it wasn't totally true. The officers here were cruel, very cruel. The interrogations often included severe beatings that left Max dazed and breathless for days. But what use would it be getting Georg upset over something he couldn't control? Max began to cough violently into his arm, his body retching to be free of this sickness. It had been a few days since the cough came. But it had gotten so much worse. Surprisingly, Max didn't care anymore.

_ Georg, you existed outside your titles long before the war, how should this be any different? When I first met you, I had no idea you were a Baron: I only knew you were rich and that was good enough for me. No, you were only Georg and the Americans should be proud to get just that._

_ I'm not sure when I'll be getting out. Though they seem to be letting up on me, they make no indication that they are going to free me. Elsa wrote to me the other day, she says she is doing all she can to secure my freedom. The little darling. Though I honestly believe her, I'm beginning to doubt if I shall ever be free again._

_ Oh, Georg, I miss you. I miss you desperately. How could I ever ask you to compromise? There is __**no**__ compromise with these mad men, only right and wrong. Heaven knows which is which anymore. Oh, but you knew. You always knew what was right. I'm so sorry I ever doubted you._

_ Remember that first night? In Vienna? August, 1917. It was your shipping out party. Everyone was there and it was beautiful. Elsa and Agathe, caught up in that flapper trend in feathers and sequins. The band played something quick and hot, the singer's voice was smoky in the air. I drank too much champagne, but you didn't care. We danced and I thought I was flying. I couldn't breathe, but you helped me stand. The girls went to freshen up and we waited for them on the roof._

_ In those moments of solitude, you held my hand and told me to wait for you. Do you remember, Georg? Your eyes were so green, it was lovely. I cried that night on the roof, under the black sky, and you kissed me, trying to make it better. Later, after we walked the girls home, you took me to your apartment and we made love for the first time. I cried then too. Not because you were cruel, but because I knew, as I've always known, that I would never have you. Truly have you._

_ Oh Georg, sometimes I think about everything that has happened. Did we really make those choices, or was it someone else? Agathe was lovely, and I know what she meant to you, but I hated her. I hated her because she loved you and you loved her back. When she died, I'm sorry, Georg, but I was happy. And when Elsa made her plans, well- It seemed like the perfect solution. She knew there was someone else in your life, though she never knew it was me (she often complained about how often Georg left to see the "other woman"- ha! I quite like that name, "the other woman"). I had hoped we could've reached some understanding, some way to go on privately._

_ But then Maria came. I know you love her, and she's really quite amazing- But Georg. I hate you for her. You married her without even telling me- I wasn't even allowed at the wedding! And then you left on your two month honeymoon, leaving me with the kids and an empty bed._

Mas stopped, tears making his eyes glassy and his hand shake. Oh yes, sometimes he hated Georg. Like when Georg hated him. Max didn't mean to hold a grudge against Maria- she saved George _and_ the children, he _owed _her. But she had taken the greatest treasure of his life from him, as Elsa and Agathe had done before her, so he had to hate her.

_Georg, forgive my resentment. I have had a year of pain and solitude, with only your letters as comforts. I don't mean what I say Georg, you know me. I'm a politician with no political convictions._

_ Have the children sing the Edelweiss song, for me- the on you sang when we stayed in that cabin on the mountain in '19. That was a lovely summer; I dream of it often. Give Maria my love. And thank Brigetta for the book and the letter- Steinbeck will be a much appreciated break form this hellhole (Georg, you're letting the girl read Fitzgerald? How progressive of you)._

_ Keep my in your prayers. You always occupy mine._

_Forever Yours,_

_ Max_


	2. The Mountain

**I don't own SOM.**

**Again, this is just some brain vomit I have, nothing serious.**

**Don't worry about it.**

_Loving, leaving, it's too late for this now_

_Such esteem for each has gone_

_Has time driven our season away?_

_In a world of the speech that is new_

_I'll be back again to stay_

_Again to stay_

\- "_Winter Song_" by the Head and the Heart

Georg Von Trapp looked over the letter stiffly, the slanted, quick handwriting so familiar to him. He was sitting in the family's rented apartment. Maria and the kids were out singing, earning what little money they could. The great Von Trapp fortune was very precious to Georg, and he did his best to conserve it. That meant very little spending money. Maria had asked him to come with her, but he simply couldn't reveal himself like that. Singing... Singing was something he kept close to his heart.

Georg touched the last paragraph. _The summer of '19_. Oh yes, he remembered that well. Agathe was away in Paris; they were only dating at that time. Oh, what a time it was.

_June, 1919_

"Georg," Max panted tiredly. "I am fully in favor of _stopping_. _Now_."

"Come on!" Georg looked over his shoulder with a smile. Max was kneeling over, his hands on his knees. His orange sweater vest was stained with sweat, his bow tie slightly off kilter. "I told you to dress for a hike." Georg shifted their bags from his left shoulder to his right. He had done his best to carry the majority of their supplies, but it seemed even the light load was too much physical exertion for Max.

"Seeing as I've never experienced any form of physical activity in my life, I'm not sure how you could trust me with that job." Georg stepped towards him, offering him his hand. Max looked at it for a moment, smiled, and took it heartily.

"How will you survive hiking the others?"

"Why in the _world_ would I hike any other mountain ever?" Max asked, incredulous.

"For _fun_." Georg supplied. Max could only chortle at that.

"Can I at least have a smoke?" Max asked. Not waiting for an answer, he took out his pack and put a cigarette between his lips.

As he searches for his lighter, Georg reached over and plucks the cigarette from Max's lips, putting it in his own. "You know," He said, the words squished around the tube of the cigarette. "Smoking won't make this hike any better."

"No, but it'll make it much more enjoyable." Max, lighter in hand, snatched the cigarette back and lights it defiantly. Puffing out silky clouds of smoke, he asked, "How much further?"

"Another mile or so." Georg looked up at the mountain, holding his hand up to block out the fierce summer sun. "We'll get there in an hour." _Hopefully_, he thought, gazing at Max, who had just stopped panting. "Come, we have to hurry."

"I know the chances are slim, Georg, but could you by any chance _carry_ me?"

By some miracle, they made it to the mountain top before the sun burnt out and the world ended. The cabin, owned by some old friend of Georg's, who believed Georg was going on a little boys' night out trip (which was partly true), was quite quaint. The wood was stout and strong. The cabin itself had two thin beds, a stove, a table with two chairs, and a few cabinets. Though nice, it held a smell of dirt and leaves that was pleasing to Georg, but foreign to Max.

With the stove burning a nice, sweet orange flame, Max sat with his back against the bed, a watery brandy in one hand, a book in the other. He was dressed only in an open-necked shirt and pants, painfully casual for him. The romantic light danced across his page, dazzling his barely inebriated eyes.

"What are you reading?" Georg asked, casually looking over from his seat by the window. The night sky was extravagant and he hated to miss the midnight-turned mountains.

"Night and Day." Max declared. "Virginia Woolf. Quite interesting."

"Isn't that a feminist novel?" Georg asked, his nose slightly wrinkled.

"Your point?"

"You never cease to amaze me, Max." Georg responded, shaking his head.

"I should hope so." Max replied with a smile. "The day I stop amazing you is the day you can kick me out."

"I'll never kick you out." Georg whispered under his breath, turning back to the window and the night sky.

"I know." Max muttered. But he left the conversation alone, because it would lead to an argument, and they argued too much already. Agathe was already a little peeved at Georg at "wasting" his fortune on his friend. Max was confident that, once he developed a good list of contacts and friends in the government, he would make good money. But that day was yet to come.

It was hard for them, being unflinchingly honorable and totally self-centered. They both were aware that they totally hated each other sometimes (most of the time), but the past they shared was too deep and wide for them to forget it.

They sat in silence for a while, only the warm crackle of the fire lifting the heavy quiet. After an hour or so, Georg searched through his belongings and dug out his guitar. Strumming it softly, he sat next to Max, their legs touching softly. And then, Georg began to sing. Soft and quiet, but with such beauty and gentleness that it made Max put his cigarette down, his heart in his throat.

"What is that?" He asked softly.

"An old folk song." Georg replied. "The music of the mountain."

"It's the most beautiful thing in the world." Max decided. He moved to sit criss-cross, facing Georg fully. Playing slowly, he sang the song again, Max trying his best to keep up. It was about a flower, an edelweiss. Max's voice, competent but not nearly as lovely as Georg's, was hushed and in awe.

"You must sing more, Georg." Max told him.

"No." He responded sharply. "Singing is from the heart. It's what I give to the people I love."

Well, that made Max's heart soar, higher than every mountain he could dream of. But then a question soured his mind. "Do you sing it for Agathe?"

Georg's face instantly went cold and distant: his Captain face. His Baron face. Yes, it was familiar. "Max-"

"Please, I'm sorry, Georg. Please, let's not argue." Max tried to appease him.

"You know I love Agathe."

"Of course." Mac conceded, but then, he couldn't help it. "You just would need a quick shag with me every once in a while." Georg jumped to his feet, guitar in hand and face boiling. Oh, he was angry now.

"I don't need to defend myself to you." Georg turned away from Max, putting the guitar away.

"No," Max retaliated. "I'm just your weekend whore, Georg, I-" Georg was on top of Max instantly, grabbing him by the shirt collar and tackling him to the ground. Max felt the air shoot out of his lungs as Georg crashed on top of him.

Georg's fists were heavy and sure. The first one busted Max's eye, bruising six layers at once: yellow, purple, black. Delicate layers of pain. The second: his nose. Bloody gushed out quite satisfyingly. When Georg went for the third punch, Max managed to struggle to the side and Georg just punched the wooden floor.

The pain was instant and Georg cursed vehemently. Taking his chance, Max struck Georg across the jaw. The feeling of hurting Georg was wonderful and Max kept going, another hit and another. It was a new experience for Georg, he was too stunned for a moment to do anything. Then, Georg broke from his stupor and grabbed Max's arms, pinning him back down against the floor. In a panting, angry moment, they looked into each other's furious eyes. They held it, and of course, Max cracked a smile. The tension bled out of the room and Georg collapsed on top of Max, suddenly tired and sore.

"Get off me, you big oaf." Max said, pushing Georg's sturdy body away. Max reached for his brandy glass, a few chips of ice still floating in the bottom, and pressed it to his eye. Then his nose. "Well, that was a riot."

"I'll say." Georg looked up and took the glass, holding it to his jaw, where an impressive bruise was already burgeoning. Then, he took a long swig of the brandy.

"We're a mess." Max said quietly, looking into the dying fire of the stove. "A bloody mess."

Georg looked into the fire as well, and saw the warmth of it all. Looking away, his eyes were still shining with the light. Sitting up, Georg wiped the blood from Max's face. "Damn it all, Max, but I love you."

And this led to other things, which led to longer things.

Long story short, they never really got around to hiking the mountains.


	3. The Meeting

**I don't own SOM. I'm taking some artistic license here with history, so humor me.**

Max was curled up in a tight ball, his bones shivering like an earthquake as he laid in his cot in the dim barracks. The other prisoners were coughing and suffering in their sleep, but Max tried to ignore them, for he resented them. He had to work, like all the others, alongside the Communists and the Jews. Yes, the dirt and the filth, they surrounded him. The Jews were faceless, gray and melting. The grime grew into them. Max never had time to learn their names, it was an endless stream of living corpses.

Georg's latest letter was clutched to Max's thin chest, the grainy surface warm against his chilled fingers. Maria had had the baby, and Georg sent a picture. A small, wonderful little boy. He had Maria's nose, but Georg's eyes. And those eyes were so familiar, so pure and bright. Like Georg had once been.

_Maximilian von Trapp._ Max reread those words in the letter again and again. _Maria likes the name, she wants to keep you close to our family, _Georg wrote. _So do I._

Max looked deep into those young eyes, and remembered when Georg's eyes were like that.

_July, 1914_

"Herr Detweiller!" The throaty, hoarse voice called.

Max rubbed his eyes, the smoke of his cigarette making his eyes sting. Tossing the dying cigarette onto the ground, crushing it with his beaten shoes, he turned to Frau von Spaun. Her wrinkled face looked strange against the glittering fabric of her dress. Her old, loose flesh was barely contained in the gown, obviously made for someone much younger and prettier.

"Yes, Frau von Spaun?" He replied, trying his best to keep _just_ the right amount of annoyance in his voice. "Can I help you?"

"Tell Herr Beiler to pull the car around front." The lady of the house said, her nose wrinkled in distaste. "The Admiral is almost ready."

"Of course, Frau von Spaun." He bowed, keeping his eyes on her, totally ruining the point of bowing. Just to let her know that he bowed because he had to, that he bowed knowing one day she would bow to him.

Max ambled as quickly as he liked to the garage where Ernil Beiler stayed with the shiny cars and privacy. The elegant orange house sat low against the view of the austere mountains. Tonight, at Hofburg Palace, some of the heads of the military would have a celebratory ball before shipping out to war. To Max, the entire idea seemed ridiculous, but he wasn't the one in charge. No, he definitely wasn't. Max pushed his way into the dark and secluded garage.

"Beiler!" He shouted into the stuffy air. "Get off your ass! They're ready."

The sandy brown head of the driver shot up from inside the car. He yawned impressively, rubbing his nicely trimmed mustache. "Alright, alright. I'm up."

"At your leisure, Herr Beiler." Max said sarcastically, as the driver slowly opened up the main garage door. The sunset of Vienna was only tainted the sky along the edges with orange. It was a lovely sight to see, but nothing like the countryside. Yes, there, where Max had once lived, the sky danced with reds and golds. Yes, the one thing the country could do better than Vienna.

Back inside, Max made his way up the gilded staircase of the mansion, the last dead puffs of smoke spoiling the taste in his mouth. Down the long hallway, Max's footsteps were muted against the expensive carpet. Opening the door to the Admiral's quarters, Max peeked into the plush room.

"Admiral von Spaun?" He said, civility dripping from his words.

"Ah, yes, Herr Detweiller." The short, rotund Admiral turned to the door, struggling to button his waistcoat. "If you wouldn't mind-"

"Of course not." Max replied, feigning a smile. Max came close to the Admiral and helped button the white waistcoat, made for a much younger man. Then came the coat and the hat and the rose boutonniere. The Admiral was a full man, with sparkling eyes and a bushy beard that was trimmed neatly, quite different from its usual tangled mess. The smell of old tobacco hung around the man's heavy figure. After about an hour, the Admiral was all dressed and Max was helping him down the stairs. Frau von Spaun, all painted up like a barn, waited for them at the foot of the stairs. Max opened the grand door, where the glimmering Chevrolet Baby Grand sat for them, with Beiler sitting patiently for them.

"Good evening, Admiral." Beiler said, his voice mirroring the falseness in Max's. "Frau von Spaun."

"Herr Beiler." The Admiral gave him a nod. Max opened the side door for the Admiral and his wife, then scrambled over to the passenger seat and jumped in. The car chugged off down the road, the rocks making the ride a bit bouncy. As they made their way into the city, more and more cars appeared, striding into the glittering city. The sun was fully set now, dimly lighting the mountains on fire. In the east, the sky was plunged into midnight wonders.

Beiler pulled up into the driveway of the long driveway of Hofburg Castle, the glittering lights reflecting off the washed white stone and the pale green of the roof. As Bieler pulled into the long line of cars, curling in front of the main door, Max looked at the greenish statue of Prince Eugene. The Emperor was still in Schobrunn, too old for unnecessary travel. Bored, Max lit another cigarette. As they got to the door, Max jumped out and opened up the car door for the Admiral and his wife.

"Thank you, Max." The Admiral said with a smile. Frau von Spaun pulled her mink stole closer to her shoulders. Max nodded and followed them into the grand foyer, a glittering hall of gold and light. Many other military figures, dressed in various degrees of regalia and splendor, meandered down the hall to the Redouten Wing, the ball room. Max followed the aged procession with as little contempt as he could manage.

The ball room itself was just as glorious as the rest of the palace: glowing stone and gypsum, a full orchestra playing a lite melody by the wall. Tables set up next to the tall windows. The heat, though borderline stuffy, was tolerable. Max stood alongside the wall, gazing out across the dancing, laughing couples with only a hint of animosity.

Hours seemed to drag by like a ball on a chain. Max went to the bathroom after a while, brandy in hand, and took a long drag on a fresh cigarette. The smoke curled up to the marble ceiling of the bathroom, utterly polluting the grand display of the palace. Leaning against the sink counter, Max gazed over his shoulder, into the impressive mirror. Alone, it probably cost more than his entire wages in a year. With a sneer, he took another drag off his cigarette.

One of the stalls opens up, revealing a tall, surprisingly decent-looking young man in a sailor's uniform. Without looking at Max, the man washed his hands and rubbed his jaw. Resting his heavy, dark gaze on Max finally, the man said, "Boy, get me a towel."

"Excuse me?" The rage was instant, but Max played it off with cold, utter contempt. "_Excuse me_?"

"_Towel_." The word was punched this time.

"I am _not _a _bathroom assistant_." The lie came to Max's mind immediately and easily. "I am the First Secretary of Roads and interior Development." Max, for one thing, had absolutely no idea if that Ministry was a real thing, but it sounded like an actual thing. The young man obviously was as ignorant as Max, as he only raised his eyebrows and nodded his head.

"I'm so sorry, sir." The man said, holding out his hand. "Von Trapp, sir."

"Hm." Max shook Von Trapp's hand, testing its heart strength. "Herr Detweiller. Now, Private-"

"Actually, sir, it's _Captain_."

"Oh?" Max dropped the _Captain_'s hand. "If you don't mind me saying, you look a bit too young to be a captain."

Not missing a beat, the young Captain said, "If you don't mind me saying, _sir_, but you look a bit too young to be First Secretary."

_Well, he's got you there_, Max thought with a smile. Trying to divert attention from himself, Max said, "So, Von Trapp. Shipping out to blow up those Serbs?"

With the raise of an eyebrow, the Captain nodded slowly. Max opened his mouth to say something witty, just as the bathroom door opened and an inebriated Admiral strolled in, humming some symphony rather poorly.

"Ah, M_ax_." The Admiral slurred, stumbling up against him. Max stiffened, a blush heating his cheeks violently. Though he didn't look over, Max could feel the Captain grinning. "Please, me and the Mrs. will only be a little while longer. Make sure Beiler is ready for us. Oh, and Max, when we get home, could you push all my appointments an hours later?"

Through gritted teeth, Max said, "_Yes, sir_." The Admiral patted Max's shoulder and waddled into one of the stalls. Letting a thin breath out, Max turned to the Captain, who was now just standing there, eyebrow raised and grin gone.

"You lied."

"You believed that lie." Max countered with an apathetic smile. "And to be completely honest to myself, it wasn't a very good one. Secretary of _Roads_? _Interior Development_? If that even real?"

"Why would you lie?" The Captain asked.

"Why would you assume that I'm a _towel boy_?" The accusation was there in Max's voice, but with a smirk that took the edge off of it.

The Captain raised an eyebrow. "So. You're a- What? Houseboy?'

"_Secretary_." Max replied. "A... _Personal_ secretary." Max relented. "But still. I bet you're not even a captain!"

"Actually." The Captain displayed the medals blazing his navy blue breast pocket. He didn't say any more, just displayed the shining crests and buttons and ribbons.

"These mean absolutely nothing to me." Max said, bored.

The Captain cleared his throat. "It proves that I- I am a Captain." He straightened up. "Captain Georg von Trapp."

"Von Trapp... Sounds... Old." _And rich_, Max thought cunningly.

"Yes. An old family." The Captain, _Georg_, nodded stiffly. "A proud family. _Honest_."

"Ugh." Max rolled his eyes, taking another puff off his cigarette. "Privilege. How charming."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, you're a Captain at your age... And _rich_. So..." Max shrugged.

"I earned my title." Georg said with a frown.

"I'm sure you earned _some _of it."

"Some?"

"Let's say... 45%?"

"I'd say at least 55%." Georg affirmed. But he tried to fight down a smile, a smile he didn't understand.

"Mhm." Max mused, starting towards the exit. "You just wait, _Georg_. One day all that influence and money and charm is going to run dry- And you'll be _begging_ for a friend in government. And when that day comes," Max leaned against the door. "I'll be there."

When Max was gone, Georg was left with a bemused smile, the sound of the Admiral relieving himself, and the memory of how Max said his name. Strange.

As the war progressed, and the two men traveled down their paths, it seemed they needed each other, in some strange way. Max, in his free time, did some research into the strapping Captain. Very rich, very talented. Max kept tabs on him throughout the war, making sure he knew where Georg was. Georg, when he wasn't being shot at, managed to inform his contacts in higher places about the candid politician. Max was quickly promoted to Head Secretary of the Press. They shared a correspondence, teasing and light and easy. It was a nice friendship.

Somewhere along the way, there was something. Something. Georg would anticipate the delivery of letters on his ship. He would save the letters. Max worried about Georg, would think about his ship going into battle. He found himself praying. To whom, Max did not know. But he prayed, he prayed deeply for Georg.

After the war, with Austria fractured, Georg returned fractured as well. His pride was broken. And when he saw Max, his gleaming brown, smiling eyes, he fled. He did not see Max for months. And when he finally mustered the courage to return to Vienna, he had a sparkling young thing named Agathe on his arm. And this killed Max. But Max didn't know why.

It was not until the glittering 20s that Max began to understand. Till Georg realized everything. They began to understand, they got older, wiser, and the years went by.

And _how_ they went.

** Thanks for reading. I understand that Georg probably shipped out earlier in the war, and I might've gotten some ranking jazz wrong. Sorry.**

** Admiral von Spaun was actually the admiral at the time. Whether he had a personal secretary or not, who knows?**

** I also feel like I've gotten some of the years wrong, as far as getting the age right. But I don't actually care that much.**

** Also, I don't know the protocol in capitalizing "von", so I didn't. Sometimes. Whatever.**

**Some people have been telling me how this relationship isn't historically accurate. Really? Kinda like how:**

** Georg wasn't nearly as rich as the movie portrayed?**

** How none of the children in the movie were actually named the names they had in the movie?**

** How the Anschluss happened years earlier?**

** Or how Maximilian Detweiller DIDN'T ACTUALLY EXIST?**

**Kinda like that?**

** It's fanfiction, guys. Calm down.**


	4. The Fiancée

**I don't own SOM.**

_Max_

"_Aufstehen!_" The harsh voice echoed down the halls, shaking the walls. Max was moving before he was aware that he was awake. His bony legs shook underneath him. The air of April, 1945 hung around him. The smell of impending loss.

"Up! _Up_!" The Nazi officer grabbed him by the arm and shoved him into a standing position. The world lost its meaning and its color; it was all gray and pain. The man behind him pushed him forward, so Max began to walk, and it was a walk that was plodding, shaking his bones deep to the source. "_Verschieben, Bastarde!_"

Max bumbled against another prisoner, just as bony as him. "Good morning, Herr Detweiller." The voice was rough and harsh.

"Good morning, Herr Kanzler." Max managed with a dying smile. The ex-Chancellor of Austria, Kurt Schuschnigg, stumbled next to him and Max couldn't help but feel a little happy. Here he was, debased and forgotten, and he was right next to the leader of Austria. How bout them apples? "Where are they taking the cattle today?"

"Hell if I know." Schuschnigg shrugged. "Haven't you heard? The Allies are closing in on us. Wouldn't surprise me if we're headed to the slaughter."

Max didn't say anything, only plodded along with the others. The Nazis led them out of the barracks, into the sheer, cold light of April. It was actually warm, but Max forgot how it felt to be warm. Memories, memories bled into reality. Max looked to his left and saw Georg and the children on a blanket, laughing and eating. Maria held the guitar in her hand, strumming a soft tune. Brigitta is reading. Kurt is stuffing a cookie into his mouth. Georg looks Max in the eyes and holds out a hand for him.

The prisoner behind Max stumbled into him, and Max kept on plodding forward.

_Georg_

It was 1947 and Georg von Trapp was striding down a Vienna road slowly, his hat shading his eyes from the June heat. He passed by a fountain, where a young couple sat, laughing as they tossed pennies into the sparkling water. Georg gave them a side look, then went on his way.

His lungs itched for a cigarette, but he squelched the desirer to open up a new carton. Maria was trying her best to make him quit, and it was probably for the best, however aggravating it was.

Georg ambled quickly down the street. There was little life left in the city, only work. So much less life, less glittering beauty that sparkled like champagne. But there was still-

"Georg!" A lovely, sultry voice called out. Georg looked up and made eye contact with one Elsa Schrader. She was dressed in a deep burgundy pencil skirt and a matching, tight jacket and a peplum. Her dark blonde hair was in tight, cropped curls that rested under her hat, which matched her suit. Georg took a hesitant step towards her, and she embraced him with all the grace that she always had. Her bright red lips planted a delicate kiss on his cheek, which made him blush and shudder.

Pulling off her gloves, Elsa led Georg back to her table in front of a small cafe. They sat in simple, iron-wrought chairs. "I'm so happy you could meet me like this- when I heard you were back for a visit, well," Elsa smiled demurely. "I simply _had_ to see you again."

"It's good to see you too, Elsa." Georg said, trying not to sound awkward. He set his hat on the table, his hands feeling sweaty. "You look well." She truly did. None of her forty years showed, she was as radiant and pleasing as ever. While the rest of Vienna lost the shine it had acquired in the 20s, Elsa still remained a gem.

"I'm sure I do." She smiled, sipping her tea delicately. The waiter brought Georg black coffee, which he downed quickly. "Georg, I'm so glad you've returned. Europe has seemed _awfully_ dull with you gone."

_And Max_, Georg thought. _But you had the Nazis to keep you company, Elsa, wasn't that enough? _But he said none of this.

"Well, look at some property for you." Elsa went on, brushing a stray hair back behind her ear. "I'm sure we could find something _ravishing _in the coun-"

"Elsa." Georg's voice was firm. Elsa opened her mouth for a moment, then sighed. There was a moment of Austrian silence.

"A girl can hope, Georg." Elsa said finally.

"I'm very happy with Maria.." He replied, drumming his fingers along the edge of the table. "We have a lodge in America- Vermont, actually. It's lovely there."

"Maybe I'll visit sometime."

"You should."

They were silent for a moment, letting the soft gurgle of the city wash over them. Georg took out a cigarette and offered one to Elsa, which she accepted. Georg lit it for her and she blew out a long stream of smoke. There was quiet. Then.

"Elsa," Georg said, his voice quiet. "I came to settle my debts in Austria, tie up loose ends-"

"So you decided to visit your jilted old fiancee." Elsa said with a soft smile.

"I _wanted_ to see you." Georg said honestly. "And it's not like you're doing poorly."

"No." She conceded. "Heinrich's estate managed to stay intact through the war… Mostly. I'll at least be able to retire comfortably."

Georg nodded, taking another sip of his coffee. Finally, he said, "Elsa… Do you know- do you know what happened to Max?"

The air chilled instantly and Elsa tried to deflect the tension by wiping the lipstick off of her cup. "The last letter I got was in 1945. March."

"Me too." Georg looked at her, waiting.

"He was scared. The Allies, you know. They were closing in." Elsa sighed and pulled at the edge of her jacket. "I-I tried to get him out, Georg, I really did."

"I know you did." He tried to convince her. But she kept going.

"Really, so much of my money- Wasted. Just to bribe the guards to send out his letters. I kept wanting them to let him out, I demanded it. But-" She couldn't meet his eyes, the guilt weighing down on her delicate shoulders. After a moment, she said, "I went to Dachau- After the war, I mean. To see. He wasn't-" She shook her head in defeat and Georg's heart felt like ice. Like ice crumbling all around him.

"But they said some were moved." Elsa said quickly. "They said some were moved before the Allies took the camp."

"Where?" Georg lept on the possibility, the sliver that Max, somewhere, somehow…

Elsa held his gaze for a moment, her soft eyes seeing and feeling deeper than he thought they could. Then, she said. "Niederdorf. Italy." Georg sat back in his chair. Niederdorf. That was just past the border. Yes, he could be there quickly. Elsa was saying something, but he could barely hear her.

"It wasn't smart, to leave my business unattended. Without me, it would've fallen apart, or I would've gone- But." She looked away again, gazing across the courtyard. Yes, Georg understood. She would've gone, but she couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk going and finding him… _Gone_. But Georg had to go, it was set in his heart.

"I understand." Georg said quickly, rising to his feet, putting his hat on his head. "I'm sorry, but I have to-"

"I know." Elsa stood as well and took a step towards him. "Georg, just-" She bit her lushly painted lip. "Don't be scared of what you might find. It was two years ago, if he was still-"

"Max might've decided to stay. If he found something worthwhile." Georg knew this was grasping for straws. He could see Max, so clearly. Among those mountains and lakes of Italy. Drinking wine freshly pressed. But then the vision was tainted by the blurred image of someone else and Georg pushed it away. "I have to see." He murmured, the words cutting his lips. "I have to."

Elsa nodded, knowingly. Her eyes were sad, but tolerating. "_Auf Wiedersehen_, darling." Her lips pressed against his cheek gently. "And I _will_ take you up on that offer- Vermont sounds like a lovely place."

"I hope you do." Georg smiled.

An hour later, he was on a train, his coat resting in his arms, his hat in his hands. The mountains turned to blurs through the window. The air was sweet, but his lungs felt dead. A two year gap was closing between him and Niederdorf. And Georg's heart felt like it was slowly dying.


	5. The Answer

**I don't own SOM. Here's the last one. And it's a doozy.**

_Max _

The bus moved at an uneasy rate, bouncing along the street. Max was slumped against the window, the cool glass comforting against his warm forehead. Kurt sat beside him, smoking. Surprisingly, the smoke irritated Max's lungs. Towards the front, there was a cluster of some British soldiers, their accents annoyingly crisp. In the seat across from Max, there was some Czech journalist with scary eyes. Some guards sat in the back, their faces distant.

"Well, this is bullshit." Max murmured.

"What?" Kurt asked.

And Georg was there. In the seat in front of Max. Turned around to face him, his arm resting on the back of the seat. "You're being a little melodramatic."

"I'm dying," Max retorted. "I get to be melodramatic." Almost to prove the point, Max broke off into a coughing spat.

"_Quit sie es!_" One of the guards barked. Max looked up, but Georg was gone. He looked out the window, but his sight was blurred by the smoke. The lush, verdant mountains turned to a smear of paint, and when Max tried to blink the smoke away, everything faded.

And then it was Paris, 1925. Max was sitting at a fine table, choked in full tails. The entire room was luminescent and white and marble. There was a glass of champagne in his hand and the band played something low and swinging. There was smoke in the air. Max's body felt young and beautiful, in the way when you know that your body won't always be this way, and you are ready to do anything you want that will make you feel okay.

"Cheers." Max looked over and there was Georg, young and vibrant and crisp. His hair was parted perfectly and his glass held a stark brown brandy. Max gently clinked his glass against Georg's and the sound was angelic. No one else was around, Max couldn't even see a band. Just music, floating down into this floating beam of light that was this room.

Max took a deep drink of the bubbly, summer-like champagne. "Is this a dream?" Max asked, his voice soft. "Is this real?"

"It might be a dream." Georg got up and held out his hand. "But who's to say if it isn't real?"

Max slipped his hand into Georg's and stood slowly. Georg led him to the center of the floor and, placing a hand on his waist, started to dance. Georg danced with the assurance of each step. Max looked closely into Georg's face, the contours of his nose, his cheek. The green of his eyes. His breath was sweet and bubbly, like the champagne.

"I'm scared." Max murmured, licking his chapped lips.

"It's lovely tonight." Georg looked away, gazing across the white room. "Isn't it?"

"Would you still be with me if you could?" Max asked. "Would you wait for me?"

"Don't worry." Georg turned to him with a sad smile. "It won't hurt." Georg leaned in, his soft lips parted and-

Max head slammed into the seat in front of him, the pain bright across his sleeping eyes. He jerked awake to hear the guards yelling and running out of the bus. Max peeked out of the window, a little scared and bleary.

"Please, please!" It was a woman in a threadbare jacket, her rich brown hair tucked into a hat. Her eyes were cold and tired. There was a little girl, clutching to her leg, burying her face in the deepness of her mother's coat. The trees watched them, their leaves leaving the sun to paint their sunken faces.

"_Stop_!" One of the guards barked, his gun held high.

"Please!" The woman pleaded. "My name is- Is Vera Schuschnigg. This," She looked down to her daughter. "This is my daughter, Maria." She looked up to the guards, her eyes glassy. "My husband is on your bus. Please. Please, let me come with you."

"Well, shit." Max murmured, a little impressed by the little woman. Beside him, Kurt sat, stiff as a statue, his eyes wide.

"That's my wife." Kurt whispered. Then, yelling, "_That's my wife_!" Kurt jumped up and ran up the aisle, trying to get to her, but the guards pushed him back. The woman heard her husband and tried to enter the bus, but the guards only held their guns higher. They were yelling horribly loud, the German positively grating.

"Please!" The woman, Vera, said. Tears weakly fell from her eyes, but she paid no regard to them. They were only witnesses to her sorrow. "Please. Let me on the bus." There were murmurs among the guards. "Please. I won't run. I won't even try. Just-" She took a sharp breath. "Just let me on the bus."

Silence. Then, a harsh, "_Holen sie auf . Beeilen sie sich_!" The woman nodded in submission and led her daughter onto the bus. Immediately, Kurt threw his arms around them, bringing them close to his starving body.

"Vera." Max heard him mutter into the folds of her jacket. "Vera."

Max looked out the window, and saw Georg holding the hand of a child. It looked like a little Liesel, her dark hair in pigtails. Her crisp, white dress was stark against the green grass. Georg's eyes were sharp and clear. Max shrugged to him. Two more bodies to end up in the ground.

As the bus began to move, the two visions were chased away by the wind.

_Georg_

The train was stopped at the border to check passports. As the guards ambled down the aisle, Georg absently handed one of them his papers.

After a moment, the young guard said, "A captain?"

Georg chuckled. "I haven't been a captain in many years."

"My father served in the war." The boy said. He couldn't have been more than 18. So young and fresh. "I know that you're _always_ a captain. No matter what." Georg didn't say anything, just nodded with a soft smile. The boy moved to the next travelers, a woman in a red coat, sitting next to a little boy in a navy blue suit. As she rummaged through her purse, the boy fidgeted with his small tie. The woman gave him a stern glare. "Franz!" She said. "Stop it!" Sighing, she pulled out her papers and handed them to the guard. "Here you go, sir."

Georg turned to look out the window. The little Franz made him think of the older Franz. He disappeared after the war, never to contact the family again. Georg assumed he died, or else, was ashamed and embarrassed. The maids had been scattered across the country, Georg hadn't been able to track them down. Frau Schmidt has died during the war, alone and impoverished. It had broken his heart, to find her grave in Nonnberg. Never visited, with no family to mourn her. It broke his heart, thinking of the lives he had left in shatters. Like a coward.

In about fifteen minutes, the train set off again.

_Max_

"Well," Max said, running a hand through his unwashed hair. "This is beautiful."

The town of Niederdorf was set against soft, blue washed mountains and huge valleys of green grass and thick patches of yellow flowers. And as the bus moved down the road, a huge lake, glistening like a jewel, reflected the cloudy sky. A hotel sat amongst the pine forests along the edge of the lake, white and pristine. The other prisoners in the bus were smiling, their faces bright with the reflection of the sun.

"It's lovely." Vera said, her head leaning on her husband's shoulder. Her daughter slept on Kurt's lap.

"Yes." Kurt said. "It's like heaven."

_Pretty second rate heaven if you ask me_, Max thought, holding down a cough.

"No one asked you." Georg's voice came softly, chastising. Max smiled and shook his head.

The buses unloaded their prisoners slowly in front of the hotel. Each load was more grateful than the last. In all honest, most of the prisoners were in good condition. At least, tolerable condition. When Max walked off the bus, he barely took one step before he fell into the dirt, gasping for breath.

"Max!" Kurt yelled, rushing out of the bus. "Are you alright?" But Max didn't answer, only wheezed into the ground. A young maid rushed forward.

"Here." Max looked up and saw she was pretty, with a clear face and blue eyes. Her brown hair was tucked tightly under her uniform hat. The skin of her face was a lovely olive tone. Her Italian was sharp and straightforward. "Let me help."

"He needs a doctor." Kurt confessed, speaking in Italian. "He's not well."

"Kurt-" Max tried, but another round of coughing silenced him.

"We'll send for the doctor." The maid said. "But we'll put him in a private room, so he won't get anyone else sick."

"But he needs help!" Kurt insisted, helping Max to his feet. "He needs a doctor." If he had had any pride, Max would have been ashamed. But he didn't, so he leaned fully on Kurt.

"My mother- she was a nurse. I can stay with him while-"

"Marjorie!" The head maid, dressed in strict all black, said. "Hurry up!"

"Yes, m'am." The maid said tersely. Max looked up at her and she took his arm. "Come on, sir. This way."

"Mhm." Max managed, stumbling up the fine stairs of the hotel. "Yes."

Before he knew it, he was in a soft bed in a plain room with blue walls. There was a large window on the wall opposite the bed, letting June light fill the room. The bed was luxurious, his first in years. It was like sinking in a lake that was slowly reaching up to swallow him whole. Max felt a soft hand on his sweaty forehead.

"You're burning up." Marjorie's voice was distant. A cool cloth was pressed against his face gently. Max smiled in his delirium.

"You're a gem, Marj." Max sputtered out in German, unable to find the effort to remember Italian. "When this is all over, I'll take you out for drinks. Champagne, a nice dinner. Nothing but the best."

Max heard a soft laugh from the girl. "As long as you're paying." She replied in surprisingly good German (She has a bit _too_ much of a German accent, but who can blame her?). Max laughed, which blended into a cough. Marjorie helped him sit up. After he caught his breath, she gave him a plain glass with water. Max managed to take a sip, but it only washed the dead taste of his mouth down his throat.

"Can I get you anything?" Marjorie asked, laying him back down.

"No- Wait. Yes." Max decided. "I'd like a cigarette. A _good_ one, not one of those stupid rationed ones."

Marjorie smiled, shaking her head. "I don't think the doctor would like you to-"

"I'm dying, Marjorie. No doctor can fix that." Max said, trying to be funny about it, but the sadness was too present in this little room.

"You don't know that!"

"Don't pity me. I know when I'm beaten."

"You're weak. And you have a strong case of pneumonia. But people can get better from that." Marjorie argued.

"Please… I'd just like a cigarette. Please." Max tried not to sound too pathetic. Marjorie looked at him for a moment, her blue eyes clear.

"Alright." She said, brushing out the wrinkles of her crisp uniform. "Give me some time." And then she left the room, her footsteps soft against the floor. As soon as she was gone, Georg was there, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Please." Max murmured. "Don't leave."

"Where are the children?" Georg asked, looking out the window.

"Please." Max demanded weakly. "Look at me, Georg. Damn it, please." Max held out his hand, trying to just touch him, just touch him.

"We're to sing at the concert next week, aren't we? I should ask Maria." Georg got up, still refusing to look at Max. Max could feel weak tears race down his sunken cheeks.

"Will you just look at me?" Max begged. "God damn it, Georg, please, just look at me." His hand was outstretched, painfully desperate. "Georg-" But the vision was gone. All that was left was a skinny old man, his hand waiting for the person he loved most.

Max fell into the bed once more, wrapped the blankets around his thin chest.

_Georg_

Niederdorf was lovely beyond comparison. It reminded him of home, with its soft hills and valleys dressed in their finest. There was the heavy scent of water and flowers in the air, a smell that made Georg ache. The town was quaint and small, a murmur of soft Italian floating from the villagers. Georg stopped at a cafe for a cup of coffee and a sandwich.

"Excuse me, sir." Georg asked the waiter in Italian. "Can I ask you something?"

"Of course." The waiter, a stocky fat man, nodded assent.

"Do you remember… During the war, some prisoners were kept here, perhaps?"

"Hm…" The waiter thought. "Yes, I do. Over at the Pragser Wildsee Hotel."

"Perfect!" Georg felt his heart jump. "I'm looking for one of those prisoners- a friend of mine- and-"

"Sir," The waiter cut him off, speaking gently. "Most of those prisoners returned home after-"

"Yes, I know!" Georg's temper flared. The waiter looked down, nervous. Georg took a few deep breaths. "Yes. I know. But I'm looking for one who… _Didn't_ come back."

"Ah." The waiter's voice dripped with pity and Georg wanted to punch him. "Well. I think most of the staff at the Hotel is new, many immigrated after the war. But… I think the head housekeeper, Mrs. De Luca, was employed during the war. She might be able to help you."

"Thank you." Georg said. The waiter patted his shoulder before scurrying off to get his order. The condescension was not unnoticed by Georg and he started to boil again.

"Tsk-tsk, temper, Georg. Temper." Max said, appearing across the table, sitting in a tweed suit fitted nicely to his sprightly body, a cigarette smoking from between his fingers.

"Shove it." Georg said with a smile.

"He's just trying to help." Maria said, suddenly sitting next to Georg, wearing a soft blue dress and coat. "It's just his job." Her blonde ringlets were held under her simple hat. Max blew smoke at Georg, which smelled of nothing.

"He was pitying me." Georg complained.

"He's _feels_ for you." Maria placed her soft hand on top of Georg's. He couldn't feel it.

"And it _is_ a pretty pathetic situation you're in, if you don't mind me saying." Max shrugged. "A naval captain, on a, inevitably fruitless mission to find his _lover_."

"Yes, _thank you_, Max." Georg sneered, but with a smile. Maria stroked his hand, her lips curved in a soft smile.

"Sir?" The waiter was back and the two visions, Georg's two guides, disappeared like smoke. "Your coffee, sir." He set the cup down on the table.

"Thank you." Georg managed. "_Danke_."

_Max_

When Max woke up next, Marjorie was tucking the thick covers around his thin body. A lock of curly brown hair had escaped from her tight bun and now danced lightly along her forehead.

"Thank you." Max rasped. Marjorie jumped in surprise.

"Oh. Oh, good, you're awake." Marjorie brushed the wrinkles from her dress. "Here- I brought something." On the side table, there was a bowl of steaming soup, with a mug of tea to the side. Marjorie lifted the serving table and set it over Max's chest.

"Open." She said softly. Max complied and Marjorie spooned a little soup into his mouth. It was warm and tasteless. Max ate in silence for a few minutes, alternating from the hearty soup to the tea that soothed his rough throat. Marjorie only looked at the spoon and the mug, avoiding Max's gaze. But after a while, she asked, "Who's Georg?"

Max almost choked on a spoonful of soup. As Marjorie wiped at the edges of his mouth, Max tried to find the words that wouldn't set anything off.

"Who?" Max asked, feigning confusion.

"You muttered his name in your sleep." Marjorie brushed the stray hair back to join the others in her bun. "Among other things."

_Well, that's a bind_, Max thought. After a moment, he said, "He was a friend. In Austria. A good friend. I went to Dachau because- 'Cause I helped him escape. Escape the Nazis, I mean."

Marjorie only murmured an agreement. She spooned another scoop of soup into his mouth and Max deflated with relief that he had avoided any tricky questions. But then, she asked, "Was he your lover?"

Max didn't know how to respond. He didn't gasp or cough to choke. He simply laid there in that bed, looking up at the ceiling. _Lover_. How long had it been since Max had had a lover? Since before the war, at least. The word felt like it belonged in a different time, a different era.

"You were saying things," Marjorie explained. "You sounded scared and… _Longing_. I'm sorry, I won't turn you in. My brother- I think-" She cut off and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry." She stood to leave.

"No, wait." Max managed. Marjorie stopped, refusing to look back. Max took a breath. _Well, here we go_. "Yes. We were lovers."

Marjorie sat on the edge of the bed. Max kept going. "Georg was a captain. Back when… Well, he was a captain. And a good one. His family was born into money, loads." Max chuckled thinking of it. A pause. "And he was married- _Twice_. His children, he had seven of them, they were- Well, they were precious. Very precious to me. I was part of their family. When the Nazis invaded Austria, well, he needed to get out. And I had some influence. So, he did. And I got taken in. When I was in the camp, I sent letters to him, but I haven't- Haven't spoken to him since April, I think. I-" Max coughed. Not because he needed, because he didn't know what else to do. "I think I'll never speak to him again."

Marjorie placed a hand on Max's leg. "Don't say that. You'll get better."

"Whatever you say, _Nurse_." Max laughed gently. They sat in silence for a moment.

"Oh, yes. I got you something." Marjorie reached into the pouch of her apron and pulled out a cigarette and some matches.

"Perfect." Max smiled. Marjorie handed him the cigarette and he quickly lit it. After a moment, the room was filled with a good amount of smoke. It wasn't the best cigarette Max had ever had, but it was better than nothing.

"Maybe you could write him." Marjorie said, watching him blow out puffs of smoke. "Send a letter. I could get you some paper, a pen…"

"I don't want to make things hard for him. When I-" Max sighed. "I want him to move on. He's- he's happy without me." Suddenly, tears were fighting at Max's eyes and it took all his composure to hold them back. He didn't know what was happening. But he did, he honestly did. He was dying, and he wasn't going to leave anyone who missed him.

"Marjorie?"

"Yes?" She said.

"Could you get me that paper? And a pen, if you could."

_Georg_

The Pragser Wildsee Hotel was lovely and stark against the sharply green pines. Georg walked through the front doors, his hat in hand. The lobby was rustic, but sophisticated. There were patrons, dressed in fine outdoorsmen wear, strutting around like peacocks. It disgusted him, but he just kept his head down and walked to the front desk.

"Hello." The woman at the front desk said with a chirpy smile. "Welcome to the Pragser Wildsee Hotel. May I-"

"I'm sorry, I won't be staying." Georg cut in quickly. "It's just- I need to speak to a certain _Mrs. De Luca_, I believe. The head housekeeper?"

"Oh." The woman looked confused. "Well. I can fetch her… Is she expecting you?"

"No, I just- Need to speak with her." He replied simply. The woman just nodded and went through the door behind the desk. Georg stepped to the side, allowing other guests to get to the desk. They were all draped in furs and smoke and champagne and, "Yes, we simply _must_ see the lake after we go shooting", and getting lunches brought to them by the lake. For some reason, it irked Georg to no degree. If Max was here, he would mock everyone one of them, calling them contrived and conceited, when in reality, all he wanted was to be them. Oh, how Max deserved to be them, to be _one _of them. He deserved it. Maybe Georg didn't deserve it, maybe.

After a moment, the woman returned and said, "Yes, you can see her in the private sitting room. Just over there." The woman pointed to her right, down a long hall.

"Thank you." Georg nodded and ambled quickly down the hall. The soft carpet muted his footsteps. After passing a few closed doors, Georg peeked into an open one which led to a tiny sitting room. Books lined the walls and a window let light spill in over the two lumpy old chairs. There was a woman, in her 30s, wearing a tight-collared black dress. She was lovely to look at, with warm olive skin and brown curly hair pulled back from her face.

"Hello, I am Mrs. De Luc. Head housekeeper." Her voice was tight and formal. "Can I help you, sir?" She gestured to one of the chairs.

"Yes, thank you." Georg took a seat slowly. "Mrs. De Luc, I am Georg von Trapp and I-"

"_Oh mio Dio!_" The housekeeper gasped quietly, her hand covering her mouth. "_Oh Madonna!_" She began to stumble.

Georg shot to his feet. "M'am, are you all right? Should I call for he-"

"No, no, I'm fine." Georg took her hand and led her to the other chair. "Yes, thank you, sir, yes, I'm quite alright." She swallowed. "You- you wouldn't happen to be _Captain_ von Trapp, would you?"

A cloud of confusion settled over Georg's mind. "_Yes…_ How did you-"

"I'm sorry, sir." Mrs. De Luc said. "If you could let me catch my breath."

"Yes. Yes, of course." Georg sat in his chair again. They sat in silence for a while. Mrs. De Luc pressed her hand to her forehead, wiping away sweat.

Georg cleared his throat and asked, "How is _Mr_. De Luc?", to clear the tension.

"I am unmarried," She explained. "Housekeepers are always _Mrs_. No, I'm single. In case you're asking." She smiled weakly. Georg chuckled.

"No, no, I'm-" He looked up at her. "I'm spoken for."

"The best ones always are."

His smile fading, Georg asked, "Mrs. De Luc-"

"Please. Marjorie."

"Alright, _Marjorie_. You see, I am looking for a friend of mine, a friend who- who was held here during the war as a-"

"I know, Captain. I know who you are looking for." She stood with great dignity. "Max Detweiler, I presume?"

"Yes!" Georg shouted, a little too loud. "Yes, is he- Is he living somewhere around here?" Georg tried and failed to hide the desperation in his voice.

"Before I can say anything, Captain, there's something I need to get you." Marjorie said nothing, only quickly walked out the room, leaving Georg to be nervous. It took several minutes for her to return, clutching a folded up piece of paper desperately in her hands. She approached him carefully.

"Here." She handed him the letter, which Georg took delicately. "I'll leave you to read it. I- I have to tend to something." And Marjorie was off again. Georg sat for a moment, his stomach twisting into knots. Then, after eternity, he opened the letter.

_Dear Georg_

_I am sorry for what I am doing to you at the moment. That is, dying. I know they say I might pull through, but I've never been one for hope, now have I, darling? I hope this letter finds you (in some way, shape, or form) well. I hope you are strong enough to bear the pain that I know this will bring you. Pain which I am sorry for._

_I hope I don't speak out of turn- It's just that I feel as if I have no more time left. No more time with you. I might never see you again. And that kills me. It strikes me to the very core._

_Don't mourn me for long, Georg. Move past me. You always deserved better than me- that's why you were blessed with the children- and Maria. You deserve them. Me, I was just taking what wasn't mine by sharing your bed. Forgive me for that, I couldn't help it._

_It's just- I am not good. Deep down. I am irredeemable. I am cowardly and only interested in saving myself. My one good act was saving you and the children, and look where I am now. No, I say that sarcastically- my whole life is worthwhile knowing that you all are safe. But truly, I am twisted and broken inside. But you- You are good. Truly, Georg. In the purest sense of your soul, you have honor and faith and loyalty and everything that the world needs. You are the greatest among us and I am proud to have known you. You have always called me to be a better person- I'm simply afraid I heard the call too late._

_I love you, Georg. I love you, my dear, sweet Georg. With every fiber of my being. You have made my life into something more beautiful than I could've imagined. Thank you. I do not fear dying, not anymore, because I have loved you, and that is enough. For me at least._

_Tell the children how much I love them, how important each of them is to me. Teach them a song when I'm gone- something soft and beautiful. Like the Edelweiss one. Love Maria, truly. Love her like you could've never loved me, and how I could've never borne to be loved. I wish you every happiness in the world- which is every happiness you deserve._

_Forever Yours_

_Max_

Georg was crying, the letter crumpled up in his hands. He brought the yellowed paper close to his chest, tears streaming down his cheeks. _Oh, Max. Max, _Georg thought as he wept. _Why- Why did this have to happen to you, you yellow-bellied asshole. You coward among men. You beautiful, selfish, wonderful creature, you. Why…_ Georg heard footsteps coming down the hall, heavier than Marjorie's, but he didn't stop crying. He wasn't strong enough. No, maybe he was. But he knew Max deserved someone to cry for him, and Georg deserved to cry over Max.

The footsteps got louder, and the smell of cigarette smoke filled the air. But Georg could only weep. Weep over the man he had known, loved, and lost.

**Well, that's it. Just for a side note, Kurt and Vera were real, and Vera did bring her daughter to willingly join the transport of prisoners. Some high ranking prisoners ****_were _****transferred from Dachau to Niederdorf before the war ended. However, they were at first spurned from the Hotel, before their guards abandoned them and they were taken in until the Americans officially liberated them.**

**As for the ending of the story, well... If you ask me nicely, I might tell. But hey, not all stories need an ending, do they?**


	6. Playlist

**Some songs that inspired **_**Dear Georg**_

_Stuck on the Puzzle - Alex Turner_

_Taro - Alt-j_

_Can't Keep It Inside - Benedict Cumberbatch_

_C'est Si Bon - Eartha Kitt_

_Smoke Gets in Your Eyes - Eartha Kitt_

_Do You Remember? - Eartha Kitt_

_Don't - Ed Sheeran_

_Boy - Emma Louise_

_How Our Love Will Survive - Evan Jones*_

_Rivers and Roads - The Head and The Heart_

_Winter Song - The Head and the Heart_

_Racing Like A Pro - The National_

_Leave Your Lover - Sam Smith_

_Chocolate (Acoustic) - The 1975_

_Sex (Acoustic) - The 1975_

* This is the song my friend wrote about the Max/Georg relationship (I should really come up with a couple name). I will try to post it to my tumblr or post the link in my profile if I can.

**Thank you.**

**Roman**


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